The Winds of Change and Other Stories

by Isaac Asimov

  The explorer said, 'No strange world should be left unexamined.'

  The captain said, 'What is strange about this one?'

  'The preliminary probe shows intelligence, and on a frozen world.'

  'Surely that's not unprecedented.'

  'The pattern here is strange,' the explorer looked uneasy. 'I am not sure exactly how or exactly why, but the pattern of life and of intelligence is strange. We must examine it more carefully.'

  And that was that, of course. There were at least half a trillion planetary worlds in the Galaxy, if one only counted those associated with stars. Add to that the indefinite number moving independently through space and the number might be ten times as great.

  Even with computers to help, no starship could know them all, but an experienced explorer, by dint of lacking interest in anything else, of studying every exploratory report published, of considering endless correlations, and, presumably, playing the statistics even in his sleep, grew to have what seemed to others a mystical intuition about such things.

  'We'll have to send out probes in full interlocking program,' said the explorer.

  The captain looked outraged. Full power meant a leisurely examination for weeks at enormous expense.

  He said, and it was as much as he could offer in the way of objection, 'Is that absolutely necessary?'

  'I rather think so,' said the explorer with the self-confidence of one who knows his whim is law.

  * * *

  The probes brought back exactly what the captain expected, and in great detail. An intelligent species rather reminiscent, at least as far as superficial appearance went, of the lesser breeds of the inner proximal regions of the fifth arm of the Galaxy - not quite unusual, but of interest to mentologists, no doubt.

  As yet the intelligent species was only at the first level of technology - long, long removed from anything useful.

  The captain said so, scarcely able to mask his exasperation, but the explorer, leafing through the reports, remained unmoved. He said, 'Strange!' and asked that the trader be summoned.

  This was really too much. A successful captain must never give a good explorer cause for unhappiness but there are limits to everything.

  The captain said, fighting to keep the level of communication polite, if not friendly, 'To what end, Explorer? What can we expect at this level?'

  'They have tools,' said the explorer thoughtfully.

  'Stone! Bone! Wood! Or this planet's equivalent of that. And that's all. Surely we can find nothing in that.'

  'And yet there is something strange in the pattern.'

  'May I know what that might be, Explorer?'

  'If I knew what it might be, Captain, it would not be strange, and I would not have to find out. Really, Captain, I must insist on the Trader.'

  The trader was as indignant as the captain was, and had more scope to express it. His, after all, was a speciality as deep as that of anyone's on the starship, even, in his own opinion (and in some other's), as deep and as essential as the explorer's.

  The captain might navigate a starship and the explorer might detect useful civilizations by the most tenuous of signs, but in the final clutch it was the trader and his team who faced the aliens and who plucked out of their minds and culture that which was useful and gave in return something they found useful.

  And this was done at great risk. The alien ecology must not be disrupted. Alien intelligences must not be harmed, not even to save one's own life. There were good reasons for that on the cosmic scale and traders were amply rewarded for the risks they ran, but why run useless risks?

  The trader said, There is nothing there. My interpretation of the probe's data is that we're dealing with semi-intelligent animals. Their usefulness is nil. Their danger is great. We know how to deal with truly intelligent aliens and trader teams are rarely killed by them. Who knows how these animals will react - and you know we are not allowed to defend ourselves properly.'

  The explorer said, These animals, if they are no more than that, have interestingly adapted themselves to the ice. There are subtle variations in the pattern here I do not understand, but my considered opinion is that they will not be dangerous and that they may even be useful. I feel they are worth closer examination.'

  'What can be gained from a Stone Age intelligence?' asked the trader.

  That is for you to find out.'

  The trader thought grimly: Of course, that is what it comes to - for us to find out.

  He knew well the history and purpose of the starship expeditions. There had been a time, a million years before, when there had been no traders, explorers, or captains but only ancestral animals with developing minds and a Stone Age technology - much like the animals on the world they were now orbiting. How slow the advance, how painfully slow the self-generated progress - until the third-level civilization had been reached. Then had come the starships and the chance of cross-fertilization of cultures. Then had come progress.

  The trader said, 'With respect, Explorer, I grant your intuitional experience. Will you grant my practical experience, though it is less dramatic? There is no way in which anything below a third-level civilization can have anything we can use.'

  'That', said the explorer, 'is a generalization that may or may not be true.'

  'With respect, Explorer, it is true. And even if those -those semi-animals had something we could use, and I can't imagine what it might be, what can we give them in exchange?' 4 The explorer was silent.

  The trader went on. 'At this level, there is no way in which a protointelligence can accept an alien stimulation. The mentologists are agreed on that and it is my experience, too. Progress must be self-generated until at least the second level is reached. And we must make a return; we can take nothing for nothing.'

  The captain said, 'And that makes sense, of course. By stimulating these intelligences to advance, we can harvest them again at a later visit.'

  'I don't care about the reason for it,' said the trader, impatiently. 'It is part of the tradition of my profession. We do no harm under any conditions and we give a return for what we take. Here there is nothing we will want to take; and even if we find something, there will be nothing that we can give in return. - We waste time.'

  The explorer shook his head. 'I ask you to visit some centre of population, Trader. I will abide by your decision when you return.'

  And that was that, too.

  For two days the small trader module flashed over the surface of the planet searching for any evidence of a reasonable level of technology. There was none.

  A complete search could take years but was scarcely worth it. It was unreasonable to suppose a high level would be hidden. The highest technology was always flaunted for it had no enemy. That was the universal experience of traders everywhere.

  It was a beautiful planet, half-frozen as it was. White and blue and green. Wild and rough and variegated. Crude -and untouched.

  But it was not the trader's job to deal with beauty and he shrugged off such thoughts impatiently. When his crew talked to him in such terms, he was short with them.

  He said, 'We'll land here. It seems to be a good-sized concentration of the intelligences. We can do no better.'

  His second said, 'What can we do even with these, Maestro?'

  'You can record,' said the trader. 'Record the animals, both unintelligent and supposedly intelligent, and any artifacts of theirs we can find. Make sure the records are thoroughly holographic.'

  'We can already see--' began the second.

  'We can already see,' said the trader, 'but we must have a record to convince our explorer out of his dreams or we'll remain here forever.'

  'He is a good explorer,' said one of the crew.

  'He has been a good explorer,' said the trader, 'but does that mean he will be good forever? Perhaps his very successes have made him accept himself at too high an evaluation. So we must convince him of reality - if we can.'

  They wore their suits when they emerged from the mod
ule.

  The planetary atmosphere would support them, but the feeling of exposure to the raw winds of an open planet would discommode them, even if the atmosphere and temperature were perfect - which they weren't. The gravity was a touch high, as was the light level, but they could bear it.

  The intelligent beings, dressed rather sketchily in the outer portions of other animals, retreated reluctantly at their approach and watched at a distance. The trader was relieved at this. Any sign of nonbelligerence was welcome to those not permitted to defend themselves.

  The trader and his crew did not try to communicate directly or to make friendly gestures. Who knew what gesture might be considered friendly by an alien? The trader set up a mental field, instead, and saturated it with the vibrations of harmlessness and peace and hoped that the mental fields of the creatures were sufficiently advanced to respond.

  Perhaps they were, for a few crept back and watched motionlessly as though intensely curious. The trader thought he detected fugitive thoughts - but that seemed unlikely for first-level beings and he did not follow them up.

  Instead, he went stolidly about the business of making holographic reproductions of the vegetation, and of a herd of blundering herbivores that appeared and then, deciding the surroundings were dangerous, thundered away. A large animal stood its ground for a while, exposing white weapons in a cavity at its fore-end - then left.

  The trader's crew worked as he did, moving methodically across the landscape.

  The call, directly mental, and surcharged with such emotion of surprise and awe that the informational content was all but blurred out, came unexpectedly.

  'Maestro! Here! Come quickly!'

  Specific directions were not given. The trader had to follow the beam, which led into a crevice bounded by two rocky outcroppings.

  Other members of the crew were converging but the trader had arrived first.

  'What is it?' asked the trader.

  His second was standing in the glow of his suit-radiation in a deeply hollowed-out portion of the hillside.

  The trader looked about. 'This is a natural hollow, not a technological product.'

  'Yes, but look!'

  The trader looked up and for perhaps five seconds he was lost. Then he sent out a strenuous message for all others to stay away.

  He said, 'Is this of technological origin?'

  'Yes, Maestro. You can see it is only partly completed.'

  'But by whom?'

  'By those creatures out there. The intelligent ones. I found one at work in here. This is his light source; it was burning vegetation. These are his tools.'

  'And where is he?'

  'He fled.'

  'Did you actually see him?'

  'I recorded him.'

  The trader pondered. Then he looked up again. 'Have you ever seen anything like this?'

  'No, Maestro.'

  'Or heard of anything like this?'

  'No, Maestro.'

  'Astonishing!'

  The trader showed no signs of wanting to withdraw his eyes, and the second said, softly, 'Maestro, what do we do?'

  'Eh?'

  'This will surely win our ship still a fourth prize.'

  'Surely,' said the trader, regretfully, 'if we could take it.'

  The second said, hesitantly, 'I have already recorded it.'

  'Eh? What is the use of that? We have nothing to give in exchange.'

  'But we have this. Give them anything.'

  The trader said, 'What are you saying? They are too primitive to accept anything we could give them. It will surely be nearly a million years before they could possibly accept the suggestions of exogenous origin. - We will have to destroy the recording.'

  'But we know, Maestro.'

  'Then we must never talk about it. Our craft has its ethics and its traditions. You know that. Nothing for nothing!'

  'Even this?'

  'Even this.'

  The trader's sternly implacable set of expression was tinged with unbearable sorrow and despite his 'Even this' he stood irresolute.

  The second sensed that. He said, 'Try giving them something, Maestro,'

  'Of what use would that be?'

  'Of what harm?'

  The trader said, 'I have prepared a presentation for the entire starship, but I must show it to you first, Explorer -with deep respect and with apologies for masked thoughts. You were right. There was something strange about this planet. Though the intelligences on the planet were barely first level and though their technology was primitive in the extreme, they had developed a concept we have never had and one that, to my knowledge, we have never encountered on any other world.'

  The captain said, uneasily, 'I cannot imagine what it might be.' He was quite aware that traders sometimes overpraised their purchases to magnify their own worth.

  The explorer said nothing. He was the more uneasy of the two.

  The trader said, 'It is a form of visual art.'

  'Playing with colour?' asked the captain.

  'And shape - but to most startling effect.' He had arranged the holographic projector. 'Observe!'

  In the viewing space before them, a herd of animals appeared; bulky, shaggy, two-horned, four-legged. They hesitated, then ran, dust spurting up beneath their hooves.

  'Ugly objects,' muttered the captain.

  The holographic recording brought the herd to a halt, clamped it down to a still. It magnified, and a single beast filled the view, its bulky head lowered, its nostrils distended.

  'Observe this animal,' said the trader, 'and now observe this artificial composition of a primitive concoction of oil and coloured mineral, which we found smeared over the roof of a cave.'

  There it was again! Not quite the animal as holographed - flat, but vibrant.

  'What a peculiar similarity,' said the captain.

  'Not peculiar,' said the trader. 'Deliberate! There were dozens of such figures in different poses - of different animals. The likenesses were too detailed to be fortuitous. Imagine the boldness of the conception - to place colours in pleasing shapes and combinations, and in such a way as to deceive the eye into thinking it is looking at a real object. These organisms have devised an art that represents reality. It is representational art, as I suppose we might call it.

  'And that's not all. We found it done in three dimensions also.' The trader produced an array of small figures in grey stone and in faintly yellow bone. 'These are clearly intended to represent themselves.'

  The captain seemed stupefied. 'Did you see these manufactured?'

  'No, that I did not, Captain. One of my men saw a planetary being smearing colour on one of the cave representations, but these we found already formed. Still, no other explanation is possible than that they were deliberately shaped. These objects could not have assumed these shapes by chance processes.'

  The captain said, 'These are curious, but one doesn't follow the motive. Would not holographic techniques serve the purpose better - at such times as these are developed, of course?'

  'These primitives have no conception that holography could someday be developed and could not wait the million years required. Then, too, maybe holography is not better. If you compare the representations with the originals you will notice that the representations are simplified and distorted in subtle ways designed to bring certain characteristics into focus. I believe this form of art improves on the original in some ways and certainly has something different to say.'

  The trader turned to the explorer. 'I stand in awe at your abilities. Can you explain how you sensed the uniqueness of this intelligence?'

  The explorer signed a negative. 'I did not suspect this at all. It is interesting and I see its worth - although I wonder if we could ourselves properly control our colours and shapes in order to force them into such representational form. Yet this does match the unease within me. - What I wonder is how you came into possession of these? What did you give in exchange? It is there I see the strangeness lie.'

  'Well,' said th
e trader, 'in a way you're right. Quite strange. I did not think I could give anything since the organisms are so primitive, but this discovery seemed too important to sacrifice without some effort. I therefore chose from among the group of beings who formed these objects one whose mental field seemed somewhat more intense than that of the others and attempted to transfer to him a gift in exchange.'

  'And succeeded. Of course,' said the explorer.

  'Yes, I succeeded,' said the trader, happily, failing to notice that the explorer had made a statement and had not asked a question. 'The beings', the trader went on, 'kill such animals as they represent in colour, by throwing long sticks tipped with sharpened stone. These penetrate the hide of the animals, wound and weaken them. They can then be killed by the beings who are individually smaller and weaker than the animal they hunt. I pointed out that a smaller, stone-tipped stick could be hurled forwards with greater force and effect and with longer range if a cord under tension were used as the mechanism of propulsion.'

  The explorer said, 'Such devices have been encountered among primitive intelligences which were, however, far advanced beyond these. Paleomentologists call it a bow and arrow.'

  The captain said, 'How could the knowledge be absorbed? It couldn't be, at this level of development.'

  'But it was. Unmistakably. The response of the mental field was one of insight at almost unbearable intensity. - Surely you da not think I would have taken these art objects, were they twenty times as valuable, if I had not been convinced that I had made a return? Nothing for nothing, Captain.'

  The explorer said in a low, despondent voice, 'There is the strangeness. To accept.'

  The captain said, 'But surely, Trader, we cannot do this. They are not ready. We are harming them. They will use the bow and arrow to wound each other and not the beasts alone.'

  The trader said, 'We do not harm them and we did not harm them. What they do to each other and where they end as a result, a million years from now, is not our concern.'

  The captain and the trader left to set up the demonstration for the starship's company, and the explorer said sadly in the direction in which they had gone. 'But they accepted. And they flourish amid the ice. And in twenty thousand years, it will be our concern.'